Stephanie Caffrey - Raven McShane 01 - Diva Las Vegas

by Stephanie Caffrey

  I nodded encouragingly but saw no reason to let him know I’d talked to Block only last week.

  “So they were in the process of upgrading all the slot machines, which they’re doing all the time. People want more glitz, different themes, all that kind of stuff. One year Elvis machines are hot, and the next year they want Wheel of Fortune slots with Vanna White on them. The latest craze is vampires. Anyway, the management is always reconfiguring the layout of the floor, forming the machines into rows, circles, straight lines, that sort of thing. It’s like some weird voodoo science, always trying to guess what arrangement will make people gamble more.”

  “A million ways to separate chumps from their money,” Carlos chimed in.

  Cody ignored him. “Anyway, one day a new shipment arrives for slots that are supposed to be squeezed into a corner where there hadn’t been any slots before. Twelve of them. And Phil gets the bright idea: why do we have to tell the owners about these slots? George Hannity had been out of town for a month on some cruise with his wife, so he wasn’t paying close attention. Neither was Amy. Mel Block might have figured it out, but he was close to getting pushed out, so Phil figured he had free reign. There are seven-hundred-some machines on the floor, and they’re always changing things around, so no one will notice if a few of them aren’t on the grid, right? That was the plan. Instead of skimming off the total take, Phil basically started his own little twelve-machine casino inside the Outpost.”

  Carlos was nodding appreciatively. “Nice,” he said.

  “They aren’t in a prime location,” Cody said, “but the machines bring in a daily profit of around three hundred bucks. Each.”

  I tried to do the math in my head, but Carlos beat me to it. “That’s thirty-six-hundred a day times three-sixty-five. That’s close to a million-five a year,” he said.

  Cody nodded. “Tax free.”

  “How did Phil get the money out?” I asked.

  “That was the main problem. The machines can hold thousands—much more than in the old days, because most people use paper money rather than coins. And there are different security shifts responsible for emptying different banks of machines, so no one ever thought it was unusual that our special bank of slots weren’t being emptied.”

  “But someone had to empty them eventually,” I said.

  “Right. Phil needed a partner, so he brought in a guy named Eddie Holman, who’s now the head of security.”

  “We’ve met,” I said cryptically.

  Cody continued his explanation. “Holman had worked his way up from the cage and knew exactly how and when to empty the machines quickly, and each time he brought with him a new employee to help, usually some trainee who wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. And I bet if you checked, a lot of the security tapes from those nights have mysteriously gone missing.”

  It was beginning to make some sense. “And now you’re getting to the good part, right?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Cody asked.

  “I mean, the part about how you’ve been tapping into this bottomless gold mine yourself. You said they were stealing from the owners, but you’re one of the owners now. Or at least your wife is.”

  He was silent for a few seconds. “I guess that’s true. I found out about it almost by accident pretty soon after I started working there. I’m not as dumb as people think, and when I went over the floor map one day I noticed things didn’t add up.”

  I chuckled. “Oops,” I said.

  “Yeah. So we’ve been splitting the pie a few ways. Phil gets the largest slice, and Holman and I take twenty grand a month.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so that’s how you fund your monthly contributions to Paul Gonsalves, and it explains how you pay for a second house. All without your wife knowing. What does it have to do with George Hannity’s murder?”

  Cody nodded, seeming to anticipate the question. “I don’t have a clue,” he said. “I don’t know if George found out about it or what, but nobody told me anything about any murders. All I know is one day I woke up, and there was a crime unit digging in my backyard. Five months later I was in court looking at a death sentence.”

  I had been thinking about it while Cody was talking. “Well, it stands to reason that whoever tried to kill you tonight is on the same page with the guy who’s been trying to kill me. It seems like nobody wants the boat rocked. By the way, what’s this guy’s name, anyway?”

  “Who?”

  “Works for Eddie Holman. He’s got brown hair, huge mustache. Looks like Jeff Foxworthy on steroids.”

  Cody laughed. “That’s Dave Kootz. He basically does everything Holman says. And I mean everything.”

  I decided to leave that one alone. “So your theory is that Holman or d’Angelo are after you because they think you’re going to give up what you know about your little money skimming operation?”

  “Yeah, I do. But it’s not just that. If Holman or d’Angelo were behind Hannity’s murder, they’d be scared to death that I was talking to you. Like I said earlier, it’s really convenient for the true killer that everyone assumes I did it. If they think I’m going to start claiming to be innocent again, it upsets the applecart.”

  I nodded. “So they’d want to kill both of us. Quickly. The problem is isolating who it is.”

  Cody was silently pondering things.

  I continued thinking out loud. “Obviously this Kootz guy is doing the dirty work. He’s not a problem anymore. I think DeShawn put him out of commission when he tried to run away. But I’m guessing he’s not doing this on his own. The question is whether he’s working just for Holman or if this goes all the way to d’Angelo.”

  Cody nodded. “We can’t exactly go back to our normal lives without figuring that out,” he said. “I mean, they’re obviously following us. If we don’t get to the bottom of it now, they’re going to get us first.”

  He was right. I wanted to end this as soon as possible. “I could call the cops and file a complaint against this Kootz guy, but that would only be a short-term fix. We need to see how far this goes and bring everybody in at once.”

  Carlos nodded gravely.

  A half-baked idea was forming in my mind. “Let me ask you, Cody: how do you feel about acting as a double-agent?

  He fixed me with a skeptical look.

  “We’re running out of options. You’ve told me everything, but we can’t just sit around holed up in here forever.”

  He shifted uneasily in his chair.

  I decided to flesh it out aloud. “Tonight was just a car accident, right?” I asked rhetorically. “You know it was intentional, but they don’t know you know. You could brush it off and play it cool. Pretend you have no idea anyone was deliberately trying to hurt you.”

  “Okay…” he said, tilting his head slightly. He was still a little wary.

  I pressed on. “What if you call one of them up and tell him you’re meeting with me tonight. Tell them I’ve solved the case, and I’m going to disclose the identity of George Hannity’s killer to you.”

  Cody frowned. “Then they’d just come after both of us,” he said.

  Carlos moved closer. “Exactly.” He was smiling. “I think I get it,” he said. “You can’t go after them, because you don’t know whether it’s d’Angelo or Holman. But you can get them to come to you. With this Kootz guy out of the way, one of them will have to show himself. He’ll know you guys have been talking to each other, but he doesn’t know you know that.”

  Cody pursed his lips and lifted an eyebrow in a show of puzzlement, but it seemed he was catching on, too. “Then what?” he asked. “That sounds pretty dangerous.”

  “We can take some precautions,” I said, even as I was thinking through the options. “The thing is, you’re not the only target anymore. I’m a target too. If the killer found out we were both going to be in the same place, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to bump off both of us at the same time.”

  Cody wasn’t following.

  “Ever sinc
e Kootz tried to kill me on my balcony, I’ve been holed up here at the hotel. They haven’t been able to find me here, at least not yet. They managed to find where I worked, but tonight was probably their last chance. They know I’m not going back there now.”

  Carlos stood up. “So they’re desperate. Whoever it is would jump all over this if he found out where you guys were going to be and when you were going to be there.” He seemed impressed with the plan.

  “You’re saying he could kill two birds with one stone,” Cody said.

  “And we’re the birds,” I said grimly. “One more question. If you had to guess between Holman and d’Angelo, who would you take?”

  “For what? Hannity’s murder?”

  I nodded.

  “Who knows? Either could have done it. Phil had more to lose if the skim was discovered—money, job, that sort of thing—but Holman is pretty much a thug. And obviously they both could have been in on it,” he concluded.

  “Call Holman,” I said. It came out more decisively than I actually felt. “If he shows up alone, he’s probably in this by himself. And if he doesn’t show up at all, it means d’Angelo’s probably our guy.”

  My mind was running through a list of possible places to stage a late-night rendezvous, but it was coming up blank. It couldn’t be a public place, because I wanted some privacy and space to confront whoever showed up. What I needed was an office, but I didn’t have one. Cody could tell Holman he was meeting me at my office, and then we could lie in wait for the killer there.

  My mind wandered for a minute before I realized I knew someone with an office: my lawyer friend Jeff. I hesitated to extract another late-night favor from him, but I didn’t have much choice. Luckily, he was still awake when I called.

  “You want to use our office for what?” He sounded reluctant.

  I glossed over a few of the details. Especially the part about Carlos and his Glock.

  “Okay,” Jeff finally agreed. “But not the one downtown. We rent a suite of offices in a building about five miles east of the Strip. It’ll be deserted at this hour. There’s a big parking lot coming off a long driveway from the street. Nice and private. Let me just look up the security code.”

  “Is there a sign outside?” I asked.

  “A sign?”

  “Something listing who occupies the building,” I explained.

  He thought for a second. “I don’t think so. It’s just a nondescript brown office building.”

  It sounded as good a place as any. If there was no sign out front, they wouldn’t realize I didn’t actually have an office in the building until it was too late. Jeff gave me the address and the security code. I thanked him and wrote it down. I made a few more phone calls before we left. I woke up Lieutenant Sean Whelan, but he would forgive me if this all worked out. I turned to Cody.

  “Ok, call Holman and tell him you’re meeting me at my office at 3221 North Nellis Boulevard at 1:30 a.m. That gives us an hour. If he asks why we’re meeting in the middle of the night, it’s because I’m going to the cops first thing in the morning to have them arrest George Hannity’s killer. And remember, you were in a car accident, and you don’t suspect foul play. As far as they know, you’re on their side.”

  Cody looked like he still wasn’t getting the whole plan. Maybe it was the codeine, or maybe my plan was just that crazy. I tried my best to explain it again.

  “I figure that Holman is in this up to his eyeballs anyway, so even if he didn’t murder George Hannity himself he’s got to know that d’Angelo did it. He seems like a loyal lackey, so he’ll tell d’Angelo about our little meeting tonight, at which point they’ll probably both come over and try to kill us. But if Holman did do the murder by himself, he’ll probably come alone. Either way, we have a good shot of finding out who killed George Hannity and ending this madness tonight.”

  Cody nodded, still looking a bit apprehensive. “Won’t he suspect a trap if I call him out of the blue?”

  “Not if you play it right. You’re in on the skim too, remember? So you’re just as anxious as he is to shut me down. And having them think I know the murderer’s identity will light a fire under him.”

  Cody cracked a faint smile of satisfaction. “Actually,” he said, “that might work.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  My first call had been to the Flamingo valet to order up my car, so when we got downstairs it was already waiting for us. With little traffic at that hour, the drive over to Nellis Boulevard took less than ten minutes. We drove into a deserted parking lot surrounding a dated and boxy three-story office building. I parked prominently out front, and the three of us headed to the front door.

  We were early, which would give us enough time to survey the office building before the guest of honor showed up. I punched in the key code Jeff had given me and walked in the main entrance. I fiddled with the door to make sure it stayed unlocked.

  The inside of the office building was mostly brown-painted brick. The three of us walked through the lobby, which was an open atrium with skylights on the ceiling above the third floor. The walls were broken up only by a few dated wall hangings and a large indoor palm. The front of the lobby was a wall of windows on both sides of two oversized glass doors. I thought it must be expensive to keep the space cool in summer. The only light came from a few safety lights attached to EXIT signs near the doors. We headed up a set of thick wooden slat stairs, which led to a corridor overlooking the lobby below.

  “Okay, this will work fine,” I said. “Cody, you can wait up here out of sight, and Carlos and I will be ready downstairs for whoever shows up.” Cody was too injured to be useful, and the codeine had made him a little loopy. He didn’t protest being left out of the fun.

  “Let me see your cell phone,” I said.

  He handed it over. I found the voice recorder button.

  “You know how to use the recording function? If I get him to start talking, press record and see if we can get a confession on tape.”

  Cody nodded solemnly, and Carlos and I went back downstairs to look around. I found the switch for the chandelier and turned it on. On the wall opposite the entrance was a large black directory board listing the building’s occupants. In addition to Jeff’s law firm, the directory listed a pair of psychologists, an insurance agency, and a number of other lawyers. A commercial real estate agency seemed to occupy the entire basement floor.

  “So they’ll think you have an office here?” Carlos asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then the first thing he’ll do is walk over to the directory to see what floor you’re on.”

  I nodded. “If we’re lucky, he’ll stand here for a few seconds scratching his ass while we sneak up on him.”

  “All I need is two seconds,” Carlos said confidently.

  We looked around the rest of the lobby. To the right of the building’s entrance a hallway extended off of the lobby. Carlos seemed to pick up on my thought. He walked in that direction and eased himself into the hallway’s shadows.

  “Can you see me from there?” he asked.

  “Yes, barely, but I know you’re there and I’m looking for you. I think we’ll be fine.” From the edge of the hallway he had a clear line of sight towards the entrance and the building directory. There was a dim safety light at the far end of the hallway, but it didn’t expose Carlos too much.

  “Two questions,” he said. “One, what if this guy pulls on me and I have to shoot him?”

  “Hopefully you’ll be able to sneak up on him and grab his gun before he has a chance,” I said. “Assuming he even has a gun.”

  “Hmm,” he muttered, unconvinced. “And what if it’s more than one guy?”

  “Let’s hope it’s not. If they both show up, though, you’ll have to surprise them from across the lobby and convince them it would be fatal if either of them reached for a weapon.”

  Carlos fixed me with a reproachful look. “You don’t pay me enough to do this,” he scolded. “And isn’t it about time you
got a damn gun of your own?” He was probably right on both counts.

  It was twenty after one now, and Carlos and I faded back into the shadows to watch for Holman or d’Angelo to show up.

  One-thirty came and went without any sign of either of them.

  Carlos was twitching impatiently. “Where’s your buddy?”

  “Be patient.”

  “This is crazy, you know. I’m hoping they don’t show and we won’t have to put this half-assed plan to the test.”

  I was beginning to agree. Maybe we could all go out and have a few pints to wash away our pent-up nervous energy. It was possible, I admitted, that Holman had better things to do in the middle of the night than think about my whereabouts and a three year old murder. Cody had said Holman only grunted when he told him he was meeting with me.

  “At least one of them has got to show up,” I said.

  After another ten minutes of waiting in suspended silence, Carlos had had enough. He had managed to inch imperceptibly closer and closer to me as the minutes had ticked by. He was now literally breathing down my neck.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said. His hand had found its way to my waist.

  “Just passing the time,” he pleaded. He pressed himself gently against my ass.

  “Is that your gun?”

  “You tell me.”

  I sighed. “When I was a kid, we had a dog named Tex that my dad refused to have fixed. The dog was so horny that he would try to have sex with himself in the mirror. A lot of the kids in the neighborhood thought it was hilarious to let Tex hump their legs.”

  “This was before PlayStations existed?”

  I ignored his little jibe about my age. “Hell, we didn’t even have Nintendo. The point, though, is: Tex was a good dog. We let him have his fun.”

  “And?”

  “You’re a bad dog. If you were a dog, we’d have put you to sleep by now. This isn’t exactly the best time to make a move on me.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered. It wasn’t a reaction to being shot down but to the two strikingly bright beams of light now streaming into the lobby from the parking lot. The car’s headlights illuminated the entire space with an eerie halogen glow, and the hum of its engine whirred audibly as it idled outside. We couldn’t see the car from our position, but as the seconds ticked by it seemed like the driver was reluctant to get out. Was he waiting for someone? Was he scoping out the place? The last thing I wanted was someone who suspected a trap.